


The School-Ground Freak

by Consulting_Captain_Sherlock_Crieff (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bipolar Disorder, Bullying, Deductions, Depression, Dob Dylan, Drug Abuse, Eating Disorders, Intentional starvation, John is a hippy, M/M, Military, Mycroft's an idiot, Overdose, PETA - Freeform, Pacifism, Protests, Teenlock, Tie die - Freeform, Vegetarianism, animal rights
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2014-10-23
Packaged: 2018-02-22 08:31:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2501309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Consulting_Captain_Sherlock_Crieff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teen!lock. John saves Sherlock from being beaten up and learns a lot about the intriguing teenager. They become friends and John gets to see a glimpse of how Sherlock sees the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tie-die, VW campervans and Bob Dylan

   “No! No! Get off me! I’m sorry! I’m a freak! I’ll shut up!” The pain kept coming, “You’re right! I made it up! I didn’t mean it!”

   The fresh pains stopped. Sherlock looked up to find a boy with his back to him, telling the bullies to get back.

   “Aw, fancy the freak, do you?” Sally Donovan sneered.

   “I don’t fancy him; he’s not a freak!” The boy defended.

   “Hey! You watch it! Or I’ll –” Anderson began.

   “Or you’ll what? I think Mrs Hudson will be _very_ interested to hear what you do to innocent students…” Another retort from the mysterious boy.

   “Innocent?! You think _that_ is innocent?!” Sally sneered again.

   “I’m pretty sure he hasn’t done anything to warrant this…” How come this boy was so calm? How come he was sticking up for Sherlock?

   “I only performed some deductions…” Sherlock struggled to explain.

   “You said Anderson was cheating on me with that little troll over their!” Sally snapped.

   “ _Actually_ , I said he was cheating on her with you…” Sherlock corrected. This earned him a short, sharp kick in the leg from Anderson.

   “Hey, hey, hey! Stop it, now! Go and sort this out among yourselves and leave him out of it! Yes, it was a dumb thing to say as well as it being insulting; but, Anderson, you haven’t denied it!” The mystery boy pointed out.

   “Um…”

   “You bastard!” Sally screamed as she stormed off.

   “Sally, come back!” Anderson chased after her.

   The boy turned his attention to Sherlock. “Are you ok?” He asked, genuinely concerned. The boy had short blond hair and blue eyes.

   “I’ll be fine,” Sherlock gasped, blood caked on his face and matting his hair.

   “Come on, I’ll help you up,” He offered his hand to Sherlock who gladly accepted.

   “Sherlock Holmes.”

   “John Watson. Nice to meet you.” John shook Sherlock’s hand.

   “So, um… Thanks for that.”

   “No problem. I don’t agree with bullying; it’s violent and often happens because people close their minds to people who have another view of the world.” John shrugged.

   _“Intriguing…”_ Sherlock thought.

   “I’m surprised that the teachers didn’t come over and help… Isn’t it one of their responsibilities, or something?” John shrugged again.

   “The teachers here hate me because I know what they get up to…”

   “Can’t be that bad.”

   “It is! They have constant affairs. There is at least one teacher having an affair or whose partner is having an affair at any given time.”

   “That’s insane! How do you know that stuff?” John asked, eyes wide.

   “I observe, and from what I observe, I deduce. There are often little indicators.”

   “Wow…” This boy had taken an interest in Sherlock; which was unusual.

   “That’s not what people usually say…”

   “What do they usually say?”

   “Piss off!” The two giggled for a little, almost forgetting that they were fifteen, not five year olds.

   John ran the cold water tap in the bathroom; wetting some paper towels. There was quite a lot of blood, and it stained Sherlock’s t-shirt. “If you squint, it kind of looks like tie-die…” John tried to comfort.

   “No one wears tie-die anymore!”

   “Excuse me for being a bit of a hippy!”

   Sherlock snorted, causing more blood to spurt onto his t-shirt, “Lovely… The sixties are over, you know…”

   “Hey! I love tie-die, VW campervans, Bod Dylan and I think people should just mellow out and stop killing each other because we are all people, we all have words and we should use them instead of violence… What’s so wrong with that?”

   “First of all, who one earth is Bob Dylan?” Sherlock asked.

   “Who is Bod Dylan?! Who is Bob Dylan!?! Only the greatest singer/songwriter ever!!! He sang at protests in the fifties and sixties.”

   “Still don’t know him, I’m afraid.”

   “Here, listen to this!” John took his iPod out of his pocket and played a song Sherlock noticed was called ‘blowing in the wind’.

   “I think I’ve heard it before…” Sherlock knew he hadn’t; but his mother had asked him to try and be nicer and more social. Sherlock to truly notice John without blood-streaked vision. John was wearing ripped jeans, a VW campervan t-shirt and what looked like a tie-die bandana was tied around his wrist.

   “It’s a _very_ famous song! It isn’t my favourite one of his, though. That’s ‘the death of Emmett Till’. It’s based on a real lynching in America in 1955. I like it ‘cause it shows how bad people used to have it and that we’re starting to see the error of our ways. Like I said; people should mellow out…”

   “That brings me to my second point; mellow out? Seriously?”

   “What’s so wrong with the way I choose to talk?”

   “Well, kids here will make fun of you for that… It’s not very modern…”

   “What can I say; I’m vintage, dude.”

   Sherlock snorted again, more blood came out of his nose. “Yuck!”

   “Well, it’s not going to be fun turning your nose into a blood fountain…”

   “Thirdly…” Sherlock continued as if nothing happened, “people will never stop killing each other, it’s in our nature!”

   “Excuse me for having a little faith in humanity.” That was the other thing about John; he never raised his voice unless he had to.

   “It’s idiotic to have faith in humanity; we are animals who stalk this earth murdering, polluting and we’ll kill ourselves either with war, murder, anarchy or polluting the atmosphere.” Sherlock took a breath, “Besides… Murder is fascinating!”

   “Am I talking to a psychopathic murderer of the future, by any chance?” John chuckled.

   “Nope. A sociopathic detective of the future. We, as humans, our going to exterminate our species any way, may as well try and do some good while we’re here…” Sherlock shrugged.

   “Sociopath, eh?”

   “Yeah…”

   “Kinda cool. Not usual.” John shrugged.

   “In a way, I suppose. It would be nice to not get the crap kicked out of me for being a ‘freak’, though.”

   “Don’t worry too much about it. Just ‘cause I don’t agree with violence doesn’t mean I can’t defend myself. They’ll have to get through me if they want to pick on innocent people.” John smiled.

   The bell rang. “Where are you now?” Sherlock asked.

   “C-wing. I’ve got ICT, apparently…”

   “Oh. We aren’t in the same class then… Oh well. See you tomorrow, John Watson. If you wish, that is.”

   “Sure thing. See ya.”

   With that, they went their separate ways; each boy ecstatic to have finally made a friend.


	2. Beef casserole

   There was loud music echoing through the large rooms of the Holmes’ manor house. The acoustic guitar, the husky singing voice, all echoed throughout the house. The lyrics stood out, even though they were muffled by the door to Sherlock’s bedroom; ‘Some men they dragged him to a barn and there they beat him up. They said they had a reason, but I can't remember what. They tortured him and did some evil things too evil to repeat. There was screaming sounds inside the barn, there was laughing sounds out on the street.’

   Mycroft marched down the corridor outside of Sherlock’s room. It wasn’t like Sherlock to listen to any music other than classical, so the guitar was not welcome. “Sherlock! Shut that music off!” Mycroft yelled above the speakers.

   The door opened, the music still playing. “Can I help you, Mycroft?” the other brother said smugly.

   “Turn that noise off!!! The sixties are over!”

   “Alas, no. I met a new friend today; he loves Bob Dylan and this musician is starting to pique my interest.”

   “First of all, brother mine; a friend? You don’t have friends…” Mycroft peered down his nose at Sherlock.

   “Well, it is more than a little obvious that I do now.” Sherlock’s eyes narrowed for a split second, but his brow remained furrowed.

   “Moving _very_ swiftly on. Secondly, what teenager likes Bob Dylan? Oh, Sherlock; _please_ tell me he’s a teenager…”

   “Of course he is! He’s just a bit of a hippy! So what? ‘He loves tie-die, VW campervans, Bod Dylan and he thinks people should just mellow out and stop killing each other because we are all people, we all have words and we should use them instead of violence… What’s so wrong with that?’” Sherlock quoted.

   “Human nature, brother mine,” Mycroft pointed out.

   “He has a naive faith in humanity, who am I to question it? I think the world could use some more John Watsons!”

   “That’s his name is it? John Watson?”

   “Yes…” Sherlock huffed impatiently.

   “Nice to know your boyfriend’s name, is all,” Mycroft teased.

   “He is not my boyfriend! And I could say the same for you and that guy… Gavin Lestrade, was it?”

   “ _Greg_ , and that is _totally_ different!” Mycroft defended. The music finally stopped.

   “I hear wedding bells!”

   “Shut up, Sherlock. By the way, dinner is ready.”

   “Of course _you’d_ know that! What is it?”

   “Beef casserole.”

   “I meant for me!”

   “Beef casserole, Sherlock. Mother and father have had enough of this insanity. Why are you refusing to eat meat?”

   “Because it’s grotesque! It is pieces of a dead animal, for one. And animals shouldn’t have to die for us to have a meal! We’ve got to a point where we are successful as a species and so know it is not about survival, but compassion!”

   “Sherlock, it’s stupid! Animals die so we can eat. Animals in the wild kill each other and you don’t mind that!”

   “Do you know how many animal carcasses get wasted every year? Well over ten thousand _million_!”

   “And you think you’re stopping that wastage by refusing to eat what’s in front of you?”

   “I’m not supporting the industry, Mycroft!”

   “I don’t like you hanging around those PETA supporters, brother mine.”

   “Tough, Mycroft. I like being around like minded people.”

   “Fine! But I think you should take what they say with a pinch of salt…”

   “We tell the truth, Mycroft. No living thing deserves the torchers that most animals go through…”

   “Plants are technically living things; are you going to stop eating those too?”

   “Shut up, Mycroft!”

   “Careful! Or I won’t take you to the library this weekend…”

   Poor, gullible Mycroft. Sherlock wasn’t going to spend a day at the library; he was going to a protest at St Bart’s hospital as they had started plans on a lab that supported animal testing.

   “Sorry.” Sherlock apologised through gritted teeth. Just because his brother was ignorant was not an excuse for him to miss this protest; he was the organiser, after all!

   “Come down and have dinner…”

   “Not hungry!” With that, the door slammed in Mycroft’s face and another song, The Times They Are A-Changin', began; only this time slightly quieter.


	3. Bravery

   The record player in John’s room spun and the music played as John let his head loll from side to side. There was nothing wrong with him, he didn’t take anything, he was just relaxed.

   He picked up his harmonica and played alongside the music; ‘All Along the Watchtower’, to be specific.

   “What are you doing?” A gruff voice demanded from the door. John’s father. A military man and an all-round ‘clean-cut’ individual.

   “Just playing my harmonica to a bit of Bob Dylan, dad. It’s ok.” John smiled. He did not encourage his father’s gruff tones at all and often tried to diffuse the situation as quickly as possible.

   “You’re a weird boy, do you know that?” John’s father sulked, “our family has a proud tradition of soldiers and war; yet you choose to be a pacifist and don’t even know what you want to do with your life!”

   “I know I want to help people and work towards the greater good. I don’t know exactly how yet, but I’ll figure it out.”

   “Soldiers are brave people who fight against our enemies. Isn’t that good enough for you?!”

   “I don’t agree with war. I think that we should just talk things out instead of killing each other.”

   “I bet this moral high-ground of yours is just because you’re a coward!”

   “I’m not a coward father. A coward is someone who accepts social conformity while not agreeing with it and not trying to do things for the benefit of the world and to make themselves a little happier. A coward follows a doomed, miserable crowd.”

   “That’s enough of that!”

   “That is all I had to say.” John did not say that to be defiant or to talk back. He smiled as he said it as it was the truth.

   “So…” his father trying to change the subject, “how was school?”

   “Good, actually. People made fun of my clothes, like you said they would, but I didn’t really care about that. I made a new friend… So, yeah.”

   “A friend?” His father raised an eyebrow at the word. His son was not the sort of person to make friends easily.

   “His name’s Sherlock Holmes. I saved him from been beaten into a pulp and we got to talking.”

   “I thought violence wasn’t your ‘thing’…” he smirked.

   “I used my words, dad.”

   “Come on, dinner’s ready. You can do your homework after.”

   “Fine.”

   Father and son sat down for dinner and talked mainly about Sherlock before John went to do his homework. A friend? It took John’s father the rest of the night to get his head around it.


	4. The morning

   Sherlock threw on a t-shirt. A PETA t-shirt. He couldn’t let Mycroft or his parents see it. Thankfully, his parents had left for a business trip to Paris that morning, so there was very little chance of them seeing it from two hundred and eighty three and a half miles away.

   He looked at the scars on his arms. White lines that each had their own story. Wounds made out of loneliness and boredom. Stupid Sally! Why did she do that to him? Why would anyone do that to anyone? Mycroft said human nature, but humans aren’t that cruel; or at least he hoped not.

   Sherlock pulled on a black hoodie and zipped it up. Mycroft was not going to see that t-shirt. He gracefully made his way down the stairs and smugly grinned at Mycroft. “Cake? For breakfast? Not the healthiest start to the day…”

   “Oh shut up, Sherlock! There’s no bread and no cereal! It’s cake or nothing, I’m afraid.” Mycroft defended while taking another bite of the chocolate fudge cake.

   “No thank you! I’ll leave you to your diabetes!” Sherlock declined.

   “You didn’t eat anything last night either, brother mine. I’m starting to get a little concerned about your eating habits…” Mycroft sounded bored and indifferent, but Sherlock knew he felt different, or at least he hoped.

   “It’s fine, Mycroft,” Sherlock dismissed.

   “If you say so, brother mine.” Mycroft sighed.

   “See you later,” Sherlock shrugged as he left for school; at least John was there.

…

   “I see you’re still going to school… like that…” John’s father mumbled.

   “Yes…” John said wearily.

   “Listen, John. What I said before about you being a coward… I’m sorry. I just want what’s best for you, you know?”

   “Yeah, I know dad,” John smiled. He smiled a lot – even more so since meeting Sherlock the day before.

   “Breakfast?” A half-hearted gesture, but John never expected miracles from his father.

   “What are we having?” John smiled and sat at the table.


	5. Just take me home

   Tedious. Boring. Dull. Just plain stupid… _Shut up, Mr Dimmock!_

   Sherlock was sitting at the back of the Physics classroom, loathing every second. Everything that came out of Mr Dimmock’s mouth he either knew, didn’t need or the information was wrong. Dimmock was only a supply teacher, but still.

   “Sherlock Holmes, pay attention!” Dimmock growled.

   “What for?”

   “Detention! After school; three o’clock, here!”

   “Fine,” Sherlock huffed. Stupid, hot-headed Dimmock.

   The bell rang and the students basically ran out of the door. Sherlock stood up slowly. When was the last time he ate? He couldn’t remember as the hunger pains made themselves known. The room kept spinning and he found himself leaning heavily on his desk to keep himself upright; but it was too late. He felt himself falling as darkness enveloped him.

…

   John was walking absentmindedly down the corridor when he heard the announcement, “Could a first aider make their way to classroom 21a, please. Thank you.” That was John’s next class. What had happened? He unconsciously picked up speed.

   There was a crowd around the door when John arrived. “What happened?” he asked a curly haired girl that Sherlock had analysed the day before – Sally, if he remembered rightly.

   “The freak’s fainted,” she answered with a smug smile, “who knows why.” John could detect sarcasm in her tone – but didn’t know why.

   “Don’t call him a freak,” he instructed her calmly, ignoring her protests as he saw Sherlock being carried out of the room. His friend was pale and limp, he looked dead apart from the brief moments when his eyes fluttered open for a second or two. “Let me through, he’s my friend.” John pushed his way through the crowd, following the first aider as he carried Sherlock down to the reception.

…

   Sherlock was sprawled across several chairs when he came too properly. He felt as though a truck had collided with his head and his limbs were as heavy as lead. His eyes finally focused and revealed John sitting him. “Yeah, low blood sugar will do that to you.” John stated. “When was the last time you ate, Sherlock? And don’t say this morning or last night if it isn’t true. I’m not angry, I just want to know.”

   “What day is it? I can’t really remember…”

   “Tuesday.”

   “Saturday lunch.”

   “Sherlock!” John had raised his voice. He didn’t do so often, as Sherlock had heard, so the young boy decided to venture carefully.

   “I had a big assignment due yesterday and I find I can’t think as well when I eat, so I often fast for a few days if I have an assignment or test. It’s _not_ an eating disorder, do _not_ make that mistake; it’s only because eating slows me down.”

   “You are unbelievable. I’m guessing you didn’t eat anything yesterday or today, though. If your assignment finished yesterday, why didn’t you eat dinner yesterday or breakfast today?”

   “I didn’t eat dinner yesterday because I’m a vegetarian and my parents refused to allow me to continue with meat-free meals or allow me ingredients to make one myself. Breakfast today was cancelled because there was no bread or cereal in the house and the only option was a sickly chocolate fudge cake that I really did not want to eat – so I skipped both meals.”

   “You’re vegetarian?”

   “Is that so hard to believe? I mean, look at me. My skin’s thin and slightly translucent; I have very little weight to me –”

   “No, both of those have nothing to do with being a vegetarian – it’s mainly a myth. You just need to go outside more and eat regular meals – which brings me back to my point; are you sure you don’t have an eating disorder?”

   “John, I don’t. I don’t care about how I look, really. Worrying about it has little point in my opinion…”

   “I’m sure you know as well as I do that that is an oversimplification. Come on, Sherlock; I got you something to eat while you were unconscious.”

   “Please say it doesn’t have bits of dead animal flesh in it…”

   “Firstly, gross. Secondly, don’t worry; I got a cheese sandwich, pasta salad and a triple chocolate cupcake.” John handed Sherlock the containers with a slight smile.

   “Uh… Thanks, I guess.”

   “I want to ask you a question, though; how often does this happen?”

   “Depends. It averages out to be around twice a month…”

   “Sherlock!” John’s yell screamed and tore through Sherlock’s sore mind palace.

   “Please, John. It hurts…”

   “Hate to say ‘serves you right’; but you shouldn’t starve yourself, Sherlock. It isn’t healthy.”

   “Hate to say ‘I don’t care’, but I don’t. It’s only transport, what matters is in here,” Sherlock tapped his temple with his shaking fingers.

   “Well, that,” John tapped Sherlock’s forehead, “doesn’t work without fuel, Sherlock. You’re smart, you should know that.”

   “I _do_ know that the theory is true, but I don’t find that it applies to me.”

   “It isn’t a theory, Sherlock; it is science and common knowledge. Also, you are human; not an alien or something like that. You aren’t that much of a freak.” Sherlock scowled at his friend while taking a large bit of the sandwich.

   “How do you know?” he asked with his mouth full.

   “This isn’t a science fiction novel,” John shrugged, “They’ve called you’re brother, by the way.”

   “Oh God…” Sherlock groaned.

   “Mycroft’s an interesting name…” Sherlock snorted as he watched the door.

   Almost on cue, Mycroft burst into the room. “What the _hell_ are you playing at, Sherlock?! I get a call saying that you’ve fainted from low blood sugar _again_! You know I am not one to random outbursts of emotion like this; but, dear God, Sherlock Holmes you will be the death of me!” It was like Sherlock’s head was going to explode. The pain flared up as Mycroft’s rant grew in volume.

   “Sir, could you calm down. You are causing your little brother pain and there is nothing about this situation that will be helped by shouting,” John calmly informed.

   Mycroft was having none of it. He never did this out-loud unless something really angered him. “You’re the son of an ex-military man who has the occasional drink; well that’s polite; he drinks himself into oblivion when you’re gone long enough for him to sober up again, but sometimes he miscalculates; you’ve walked in on him a few times, haven’t you. You’re older sister is the same way, though she is less careful. She always leaves you to clean her up and put her to bed when she is completely inebriated. You have a violent streak to you but you cover it up, try to drown it in pacifistic nonsense. Your mother died of a drug overdose, though your father and sister would never tell you this –”

   “SHUT UP MYCROFT, NO ONE CARES WHAT YOU SAY!!!!” Sherlock screamed, not caring about the pain. John was crying. Mycroft instantly regretted his deductions.

   “You are both the same, aren’t you? You saw those things, didn’t you Sherlock? Just… Just leave me alone. I don’t want to be friends with someone who can tear apart my deepest secrets and know the problems I have at a glance.”

   “John…”

   “Shut up, freak!” John’s fist collided with Sherlock’s eye, knocking the tall boy down. Sherlock stared at the floor.

   “You really think of me like that, don’t you,” Sherlock asked, only a little above a sad whisper, “I knew it was too good to be true… Why would anyone be friends with me?”

   John had to leave. He couldn’t deal with this. Mycroft let his mask slip. “Was that –”

   “Yes Mycroft. That was John Watson. I hope you’re proud of yourself…”

   “Sherlock, I’m sorry…”

   “No you aren’t.”

   Mycroft knew the signs. He had to try and help while he still could. “Sherlock, look at me. You made too much progress; don’t do this.”

   “Just take me home, Mycroft.”

   “Sherlock–”

   “Just take me home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please review! :D


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